Writing…behold the horror.

Okay, first of all, this isn’t about writing horror, and as I sit here wondering what my currently fucked up mind is about to write next, I should probably write a disclaimer.
This is as much for me as anyone else out there, because you know what? I’m a writer…and I’m terrified of writing. 
It’s been four months since I wrote anything remotely connected with a novel, never mind attempting to complete the two series I have started. So, sorry about that.
I could sit here and spout excuse after excuse. 
I’ve been too busy. 
Real life sucks. 
My characters aren’t talking to me. 
They would all be lies.
I have time. I work night shifts. In fact, one of the reasons I took the job was so I’d have time to write. But I sit most nights doing every thing I can to avoid putting any words down.
Real life is pretty good right now. Yes, like a LOT of people I’m struggling with depression, which was probably the main reason I initially stopped writing. When I finally admitted to myself that I needed help, I found that there are so many ways to get help. Friends were the best, most effective way, but personally I got lucky with medication. The biggest step for me was admitting anything was wrong. I thought, ‘No way. I’m not depressed? It couldn’t happen to me.’ Well, it did, and I’m dealing with it, and thanks to all of you out there who have taken the time to listen, even if it’s just a friendly word or two.
Next, my characters talk to me all the time, filling my head with ideas, moaning at me that they’re bored, etc. They want another book, want their voices to be heard by someone other than the nut job whose head they live in.
So, what’s stopping me?
The truth? I’m terrified. Of writing.
Yup. I never knew that was even a thing. Maybe it isn’t for other people, but it’s pretty real for me. Thing is, I’ve written a few books. Most people even like them, and I think that might be the problem. I’m scared of writing, because what if I can’t write as well as I have done? What if the words won’t come? And if they do come, what if people hate them?
Ever time I write a few words and then read them back, I end up doubting myself even more. It’s a vicious circle, but even as I write this, I feel it is coming to an end. I actually think this is helping, as the same way I confronted the fact I had depression, the admission of being scared is having the sort of effect I imagine alcoholics have that first time the stand up in an AA meeting and admit they’re an alcoholic.

Hi. My name’s CJ Rutherford, and I’m terrified of writing.
There. Baby steps, man...baby steps.

PS…I’ve just opened the manuscript for Treaters 2 for the first time in weeks.